Outlander
by AnthonyS
Summary: A man, foreign to the Capital Wasteland, stumbles into its confines. Who he is: a mystery. Why he has come: a mystery. But one thing is for certain, his arrival will mean a struggle for the newly emerged union of the Capital Wasteland.
1. Chapter 1: Arrival

Chapter 1

Arrival

On February 9th, six years after the defeat of the Enclave, a man stumbled into the Capital Wasteland. He was of a variety it had never seen before, strange and foreign. The list of peculiarities was long. His legs were covered by a bizarre pair of pants. The fabric was thick and durable – denim, though the set he wore did not sport any of the old pre-war brand names. The pants stretched the length of his legs until they ended at a pair of tan, laced boots. They too looked like they had been made rather than found, crafted rather than scavenged. The stitching showed the irregularities of being fashioned by hand. The soles were thick, however, and looked to have trekked many miles. Whoever _had _made them had put a lot of time and effort into them. His belt was probably the most familiar thing. It was made of Brahmin hide and was thick, thick enough to easily support the nine-millimeter pistol and multiple ammunition pouches that hung along it, plus the empty canteen that hung just above the man's buttocks. His torso was covered by a leather vest, closed across his front by three matching metal clasps. Scars peeked out from behind the tanned leather fabric. Upon closer examination one could see a pattern had been etched into the material. They looked to be leaves of some sort. At his shoulders hung two matching pauldrons. What they were made of was a complete mystery. Painted upon one was the silhouette of a black Elk, an animal unknown to the Capital Wasteland, and upon the other was an old Gothic-style cross, its ends curved and pointed. His left hand was covered by a worn leather glove, the fingers cut away. Attached to the palm was a strange hook, pointed up toward the man's forearm, its use unclear. His other hand was bare. In it he carried a strange weapon. It was shaped like a rifle, though made entirely of wood, with what appeared to be a bow laid horizontal across the barrel. The string was pulled back tight, a short arrow notched along it. It was a crossbow, though the word would stand alien to most. Only a few versed in ancient history would know its origins. He was an outlander, though where he called home was a complete mystery, and even more unknown, was why he had come.

He stumbled upon a rock, caught himself, and continued forward. He brushed back a rogue strand of hair from across his eye. Blood was starting to leak through his pants, the cut along his left leg refusing to stay closed. He knew he wouldn't last much longer. His throat ached, begging for water, and his skin burned. He had yet to see any signs of life in the unknown territory. Not since his squad had been ambushed by those great, yellow-skinned beasts. God, they were dead. All of them. Dead. He fought back tears – tears of heartache, tears of frustration, tears of exhaustion. He ran a dry tongue across even dryer lips. The stubble along his jaw itched but he refused to scratch it. He didn't want to lose any more skin to this evil sun.

The man coughed. He had no idea where he was. After a mad dash through the sewers upon which he had barely survived he had emerged into the downtown remains of the capital city. Debris covered the streets. The smell of baking asphalt and scorched earth greeted his nostrils. Then again, maybe it was just the scent of his own rotting flesh. God, if he only had some water. He could go miles further, maybe all the way back home, if he just had some –

His eyes caught something on a nearby building. He struggled over toward it, using one of the concrete walls to support himself. He dragged his fingertips along it until he reached the unknown symbol. It was a four-leafed clover with two old-style cavalry swords crossed in front of it. He didn't recognize the insignia from any of his readings, but prayed it meant something good. He stared at it for a long time, struggling to maintain focus. His vision was starting to blur, however, and the edges were going black. He turned and rested his back against the wall, intending to only rest for a moment. His legs failed him though, and he slid downward. His arms sagged at his sides, and his weapon fell from his grasp. He was done. He had no more fight left in him.

)*(

"Alright, show me this mystery man," Reilly said as she strode into the medical ward. Her husband, Butcher, stood by the bedside, and looked up wearily upon her entrance. His wife was a radiant sight, even covered in dust and soot, but he could hardly appreciate her beauty right now. He had spent the last eight hours just trying to keep the man alive, and burning through their medical supplies swiftly. He thanked God his wife had finally arrived.

"Brick and some of the new recruits found him on one of their patrols. His leg was cut pretty deep, the laceration at least four centimeters deep. It cleaned it with alcohol, set him on an IV drip to combat the infection, and stitched it closed. He also was suffering from severe dehydration and radiation poisoning. Whoever this boy is, he wasn't taking very many precautions to keep himself alive."

Butcher said boy, though from what Reilly could tell he was at least in his mid-twenties. He had a grizzled chin and lines swept out from the corners of his eyes. He was a man who had seen the harsh realities of life, but was clearly not very well versed in surviving them. He lay naked on the table, with a white sheet hanging across his lower half. Several white-lined scars decorated his chest and upper arms. His body was toned, though not overlaid with muscle. His hair was cut shorter than most, just enough to be pushed back away from his eyes.

"Any idea who he is?" Reilly asked.

"Nope, like I said they found him laying at the edge of our sector, unconscious and barely alive," Butcher answered. He ran a hand through his close-cropped hair, a futile effort to rid himself of the sweat he was now drenched in. Saving lives was difficult work, especially when he wasn't even sure the man wanted to survive. Who would allow themselves to fall into such a horrible condition? Granted, the Capital Wasteland still wasn't the safest place to reside, but with the emergence of the D.C. Republic, and so many trade routes springing up all over the place, he should've found someone willing to assist him. The Brotherhood, hell even the Rivet Security Force, would've provided assistance. It didn't make sense. Who was this man?

"He's an outlander," Reilly said answering her husband's silent question.

"What?" Butcher asked waking himself from his inner musings.

"Look at his skin, not on his arms but across his chest. It's lighter than any other I've seen, besides those from the vault that is." Reilly thought of the Lone Wanderer. He'd been only a little paler than that whenever she'd first met him. Was that who this man was? A vault dweller? She pointed over toward a stack of items on a nearby counter. "Are those his things?"

Butcher nodded and Reilly began sifting through them slowly. Most of them were made of material she'd never seen. The shoulder guards weren't made of metal, though they produced an audible knocking sound when she tapped on them. Plus, the strange symbol across the right pauldrons; it had antlers, whatever it was.

"There's no way this is a local boy," she said. Reilly's hand fell upon the strange weapon near the base. The arrow had been pulled from the weapon, though the string was still pulled tight. She strummed a finger across it and received an audible twang in response. She pushed the weapon against her shoulder and looked down the barrel. It was like a rifle, a trigger beckoning her finger against it. She pointed it at the far wall, eyed her husband, and pulled the trigger. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but a simple forward snap of the string had not been it. She put the weapon back down, eyed it for several seconds longer, and then turned back to Butcher.

"Keep me posted on his condition. I've got a couple more reports I've got to fill out, then I'll see about sending a messenger over to the Citadel," Reilly said. Her husband nodded and turned to take the man's pulse. When his fingers closed around the man's wrist his eyes suddenly snapped open and he swung his other arm outward toward Butcher. The medic jumped backward, but not before Reilly came running forward, pinning him back against the table. He struggled against her, producing more strength than she thought he was capable of, so close to death mere hours before. Butcher grabbed a syringe loaded with Med-x and jammed it into the man's arm, pushing the plunger all the way in. He struggled for a moment longer before finally sagging against the table. His eyes drooped heavily and his lips moved. No audible words were produced, however. Reilly went against her instincts and leaned her ear closer to the man's mouth. His lips continued to move.

"What are you saying?" Reilly asked. Finally, words came from between his lips.

"Protect the queen," he said in a raspy voice before his eyes drooped all the way closed, and he fell back unconscious.

Reilly turned to her husband. "Screw the reports," she said. "The Brotherhood is going to want to know about this now. Derrick is going to want to know about this now."

)*(

_**A/N:**__** It's been a long time since I've posted anything on this website. I've been working on getting my own work of fiction published, but thought I might pass the intermittent time with a bit of fanfic. This fic is not canon with any of my other stories and instead follows the idea that after the Andrews Air Force Base operation the major powers of the Capital Wasteland merged into a semi-formal union, with the Lone Wanderer at its center. More will be explained in time, and I hope you enjoy what little I've produced so far. Let me know what you think, as reviews will tell me whether or not I should keep up this potentially engaging idea. **_


	2. Chapter 2: Visitor

Chapter 2

Visitor

Derrick Diamante: the Lone Wanderer of the Capital Wasteland, Beacon of Hope, and Ray of Purity. Derrick had heard them all. Thanks to Three Dog, his adventures were known all over the wasteland . . . D.C. Republic, he corrected himself. It still felt strange calling it that. With the Brotherhood merging with Rivet City Security, conscripts being welcomed in from all sorts of backgrounds, and Vault 101 opening three years ago, the Capital Wasteland was actually starting to turn into some sort of civilization. There was now an established, and somewhat safe, trade route between all the Republic's major landmarks and towns. A trained security force – militia – monitored their borders. Raider activity was next to none, except for their small niche out at Evergreen Mills that was. There was hardly anything left for the legendary Lone Wanderer to do. The majority of his days he spent going on patrols with his fiancée Sarah Lyons and the rest of the Lyons' Pride, though it had been weeks since they'd had any real action. Ammunition came in bulk from the Pitt's ammo press, a gift from Wernher, so they really didn't have any scavenging to do, and Project Purity was running better now than ever. In other words, he was bored.

The Lone Wanderer stared at the latest report with a jaded look upon his face. His mouth was turned downward in the slightest of frowns and a glazed-over look had appeared in his eyes. Amata Almadovar had been his best friend back in the vault before he'd been forced to leave. Now, she was the vault's emissary and resident overseer, providing trade agreements and services otherwise unavailable in the Capital Wasteland. With their newly refurbished clinic, they now stood as the focal point for all medical research and operations. If a person needed a surgery otherwise unattainable in the Republic, they ventured to Vault 101. Doctor Madison Li, friend to his father, had set up her own research team there, after her return from the mysterious Commonwealth to the north. Derrick didn't see much of her these days. Since her return she'd been a different person, more focused on her work and less willing to venture out of her lab. She's saved several of his friends, however, and for that he was willing to put up with her lack of social networking. Amata had changed drastically in the past several years as well. She was more open to the wasteland and all its various amenities. In other words, she'd grown up, and she and Derrick were able to be friends again. Whatever romance had once simmered between the pair, however, was long dead. It was completely platonic, though no matter how much Derrick assured Sarah, she still held a level hostility toward the young female overseer.

"Am I boring you?" Amata asked, drawing her finger away from the latest supply report. Vault 101 had been due a shipment of Med-x almost a week ago and it still had yet to arrive. It wasn't due to raider activity or a botched caravan; it was because of laziness and a hint of spite the Brotherhood held toward her fellow vault dwellers.

"Hmm, oh no," Derrick said catching himself from dozing off. God, all those times he'd wished for a peaceful life, on the road, praying for a bit of serenity. Now that he had it all he wished for was some action, something – anything - to draw him away from these tedious political tasks. "Sorry, I'm just a little worn out is all."

"I don't see how you can march halfway across the wasteland – "

"Republic."

"Republic, right. I don't see how you can march halfway across the _Republic _and show up excited and ready for action. Yet after a full night of sleep you can barely manage to keep your eyes open to go over a couple supply reports. Jeeze, Derrick, try to show a little enthusiasm. It's not like this is how I want to pass my afternoon either."

"I could've sworn this is exactly how you'd want to pass your time. How are things with you and . . . oh, what's his name?"

"Over," Amata said blankly. "He's an ass. Thanks for setting me up with him by the way."

"No problem," Derrick said with the first upward turn of his lips all day. "Look, I'll make sure the boys over in supply get you your stuff. Durga owes me a favor anyway. I am the one that got her that new supervisor position after all. You guys have enough of everything else, right?"

Amata was about to say something when a tap came at the door. Derrick called for them to enter, thankful for the interruption. Corporal Reid – Dusty, as Derrick knew him better by – strode in and snapped to attention in front of the pair. He wore a set of green leather armor, the conscripts' official uniform and battle attire. After the forming of the D.C. Republic, Dusty had ventured to the Citadel hoping to join the Brotherhood. They'd directed him to the conscripts, the less formal security force and those charged with the broad protection of the wastes. They held an official seat in the Brotherhood, though their ranks were different and didn't sport the same level of respect as the other Brotherhood members. Dusty still took his duty very seriously and Derrick respected that.

"Sir, Reilly of Reilly's Rangers requests your presence. I directed her to your quarters and instructed her to wait there. She said it was urgent," the corporal reported. His old Rivet City security helmet, which he'd had since Derrick had first met him back in Big Town, hung against his side.

"Thank you, Corporal Reid. Carry on," Derrick said. All Dusty wanted was respect, and Derrick wouldn't deny him that by calling him is old name.

Dusty saluted and turned on his heel, walking back out. The door closed behind him.

"I wonder what Reilly wants," Amata said. "You think she's having trouble keeping her sector secure?"

"Not a chance," Derrick said. The Rangers had proven a viable force in the Republic, accomplishing most of the scouting missions in its early days. Since then, they'd taken to guarding the 6th, 7th, and 8th sectors of the downtown region.

"We'll continue this meeting later," Derrick said standing up from his seat. "Madam Overseer."

"Sentinel Diamante," Amata acknowledged back.

Derrick strode from the conference room down the hall. Anyone lower in rank than a Paladin moved to get out of his way. Though he didn't wear Power Armor his rank as well as his position in the Brotherhood was well-known. He commanded respect without asking for it. His actions had spearheaded the Brotherhood's campaign to rid the Capital Wasteland of the Enclave once and for all. Anyone who breathed knew of his name.

It was a strange thing, too. Back in the vault he'd never been one for combat or hostilities. He'd always tried to talk his way out of things or find a peaceful solution. But after spending some time in Megaton, learning all he could from the retired raider Jericho and Megaton's resident sheriff Lucas Simms, he'd learned there wasn't always a peaceful way out of things. He'd grown to be exceptionally good with a pistol, and even better with a knife. Add to it his ability to hack pretty much any computer he found Derrick had quickly turned into a formidable enemy to those who stood in his way. By the time he'd found his father James, he had barely recognized him. The wasteland had changed him. The scrawny, wise-cracking child he'd left behind had turned into a man, a survivor, a fighter.

Derrick walked into his bedroom, just down the hall from the Lyons' Pride barracks. It was where he and Sarah slept together, and it was where his longtime friend and ally Reilly waited for him. She stood up when he arrived and the two embraced after a quick word of greeting. They parted and Derrick sat down on the bed, Reilly in a chair at his desk.

"What can I do for you, Reilly?" the Lone Wanderer asked. In public he would've addressed her as Commander, but in here, in the privacy of his own room, they could just be Reilly and Derrick - old friends.

"Brick and her new squad found something on their latest patrol. I thought you should come see it for yourself."

"Something?" Derrick asked.

"Someone, actually." At her friend's questioning glance, Reilly explained, "A man. He looks to be an outlander. Not sure from where. He doesn't have any of the infection signs of the Pitt and I doubt he's from Point Lookout, too clean, too well-kept."

"Is he alive?"

"Yeah. For a while Butcher wasn't sure but it seems he's gotten his strength back. We have him dosed up with Med-x to keep him unconscious for now. He nearly took Butcher's head off when he first woke up. I thought you should come with me and see him for yourself. He also had some strange stuff with him, a weapon I didn't recognize and quite frankly don't understand why anyone would use."

Again, Derrick gave her a questioning look. "Just come see it for yourself. I know you're probably busy around here –"

"Forget it, I'm in. I've been going crazy around here signing all this damn bullshit paperwork. I could go for a little trip. Plus, I still haven't seen your latest batch of new recruits."

"Good," Reilly breathed with a sigh of relief. "I could use a helping hand with this one. I'm not sure what to do with him, or even where to start. He kinda scares me."

"Scares _you_?" Derrick asked with a bit of astonishment.

"Yeah, he's just so strange. It doesn't make sense. You should've seen this guy. Even after Butcher got ahold of him and started working he still looked to be on the verge of death. Then, as if on cue, he snapped awake and tried to tear Butcher's head off."

"Did he say anything? Like who he is or where he's from?"

"Nope. All he said was . . . protect the queen. I don't understand what he means. What queen?" Reilly asked her brow creasing.

"Let's ask him."


	3. Chapter 3: Stranger

Chapter 3

Stranger

He'd been unconscious for almost five hours now. The dose of Med-x had really knocked him off his feet. Then again, Butcher had given him enough to knock out a fully grown Deathclaw. A 170 pound stranger shouldn't be any problem. Still, even with all the Med-x and antibiotics floating through his system, the man writhed and struggled in his sleep. He called out names and places Butcher had never heard of: Anastasia, Xavier, others he wouldn't even attempt to pronounce. He spoke with a strange accent, noticeable even after only a few words. Brick had offered to take a shift watching over the man, to allow Butcher to get some sleep, but he had declined. This man was still his patient, no matter how much his very presence set the medic's teeth on edge.

Hesitantly, Butcher checked the man's pulse again. Steady, just like it had been for the past several hours. His breaths came shallow and labored, however, though he doubted it was from any medical condition. Something was running rampart inside his head, forcing him into a nightmare he was incapable of waking from. A small part of Butcher felt guilty for putting him in such a state, but with the way he had lashed out upon waking up, it had to be done.

He eyed the man's personal belongings once more. They were such strange and foreign clothing and gear. The pistol, upon closer examination, wasn't even that familiar. It was two-toned, the slide and hammer a dull chrome, while the rest was jet black. The barrel was only four inches long as well, a gross difference to the standard ten-millimeter pistol found here in the Republic. The ammo pouches were almost completely empty. Only one magazine remained fully loaded and the canteen had been bone dry. How long had he struggled without water? With Project Purity at an all-time height, purified water was easy to acquire these days. But then Butcher thought about it. He didn't have any caps. Not in any of the pouches along his belt did he have a single bottle cap – the wasteland's form of currency. So even if he had found a trader he would've had to barter for the water, and that may have been something he was unwilling - or unable - to do.

Butcher let out a long hard yawn. Maybe he should've taken Brick up on her offer after all. He checked his watch. It was well into the evening by now and he'd been up for almost twenty-four hours now. Reilly would be getting back soon so he only had a little longer to wait. A cup of coffee and some Sugar Bombs would wake him up. He headed out the small operating room toward the headquarters' common room. The Rangers' HQ had expanded in the past few years. The lower levels were now reserved for the veterans of the organization while the newer, raw recruits slept outside in the guarded courtyard. It wasn't a bad setup. Sheet metal and tarps had been stretched overhead to block out the sun and several couches had been salvaged to make the courtyard a suitable living area. They had more amenities than Butcher had ever had at that age. Plus, if any of them complained about sleeping outside, Brick would take them on a nice long patrol to get them back in line.

Butcher poured the coffee into one of the salvaged ceramic mugs. It wasn't too dirty, meaning the dirt specks were minimal, so he didn't hesitate in putting his lips to the edge and taking a long gulp. It was only lukewarm but the caffeine would do the trick. He grabbed a box of Sugar Bombs off the shelf behind him and turned to head back to the clinic.

He was suddenly slammed back against the wall, the box of Sugar Bombs falling from his grasp. The stranger was right in his face, his forearm pressed against Butcher's chest. Even through the combat armor he could feel the pressure against his rib cage. He struggled before feeling the sharp jab into his neck. It was a needle, pressed dangerously close to his jugular. The stranger held him firm against the wall, his eyes alight with anger.

"Who the hell are you? What did you give me?" the man asked his accent ringing out even harder than before.

"Butcher," the medic said through gritted teeth. He wondered just what drug the stranger had grabbed. He ran through his options. Psycho, injected straight into the neck, would probably cause him to go into shock, possibly even cause him to foam at the mouth and die. Adrenaline would probably definitely kill him. Stimpak without any injuries to coincide with would probably just knock him out – he hoped. Med-x . . . he suddenly remembered the question he'd been asked. His heart hammered away inside his chest. "Med-x, it was just Med-x to knock you out."

"Med-x?" the man asked with a bewildered look in his eyes. He looked toward the floor for a moment, then back up to Butcher. "You helped me."

"Yes," a voice said from behind the stranger. It belonged to a woman and was accompanied by the audible click of a hammer being yanked back. "And this isn't usually how we like to be paid back for our services."

The stranger looked over his shoulder. A man and a woman stood there. The woman held her pistol out, trained evenly at his head. The man simply stood with his arms crossed. Both looked like they would be formidable opponents. He allowed his breathing to steady, looked back toward the man he held pinned against the wall, and withdrew the syringe from his neck. He dropped it to the floor with a clatter and held his hands up, surrendering. Reilly kept her finger on the trigger until Butcher was safely away from the stranger, then she dropped her aim toward the ground. Derrick simply smiled, grabbed a towel off a nearby shelf, and threw it to the man. He was standing completely naked, hands raised about his head, and Derrick wanted this to be a civilized conversation.

"What's your name?" Derrick asked. The stranger stood there after wrapping himself in the towel. They locked eyes.

"Resnick," he said, the R a bit farther drawn out than the rest. "Leo Resnick."

)*(

Resnick sat across from the pair, fully dressed in his previous attire. His gun and crossbow had yet to be returned, however. Derrick may have no longer considered him a threat but Reilly was not so forgiving. He would need to explain a few things before she considered him trustworthy enough to walk around with a gun.

"Why don't you start by explaining just who you are," Derrick said leaning forward in his seat. They had set up shop in Reilly's office and private quarters. Here, they could speak to the stranger without the threat of interruption.

Resnick hesitated in answering. His eyes drew toward the Pip-Boy on Derrick's wrist. He looked at it with a strange sort of curiosity. He had never seen one of those before and he couldn't help but wonder the purpose it served. He decided he would ask about it later. For now, he would answer their questions. He owed them that much. They had, after all, saved his life.

"First," Resnick began. "Let me apologize for attacking your medic. I was very disoriented when I first woke up and wasn't even sure where I was. I had no recollection of making it into the downtown area and quite frankly, still am not entirely certain how I got here."

Derrick and Reilly both nodded in turn, allowing him to continue. "My name is Leonidas Resnick, First Sergeant of the Elk Wardens, and second-in-command to Darius Xavier."

Reilly halted the man with a raise of her hand. "Elk Wardens?"

"It is no surprise you haven't heard of us. Our reputation doesn't stretch this far south. We are the shield to Anastasia, its sentry and its avenger."

"Anastasia?" This time it was Derrick who had interrupted.

"The kingdom from which I hail, far to the north in the city once known as Quebec," he answered. "After the bombs fell and mutation spread across the land like a plague, the first queen took power and saved our people. For that, we named our capital city after her: Anastasia. It was her foresight that enabled us to survive and it's because of her only women can serve as monarchal ruler over the land, and only men can join the Elk Wardens. It has been this way for nearly two centuries."

"I like this place already," Reilly said with a slight upward turn of her lips. Resnick paid it little attention, however.

"The kingdom has fallen on hard times, however. Three months ago, assassins from a rival nation killed our queen's only heir, Jillian. Since then the city has been in disarray. There isn't another heir to replace her and Queen Matilda's health is quickly fading. If she dies before a solution is found the kingdom's seat of power will fall to her Minister of Defense Petra O' Hara, a woman whose heart does not lie with the kingdom's best interests. As First Sergeant of the Elk Wardens, I was personally appointed to lead the investigation into the assassination. It's my belief that it was Minister O' Hara who secretly organized and allowed the assassins access to Jillian's quarters that night."

"Do you have any hard evidence?" Derrick asked.

"Not anything you could consider rock hard, no. I just had a gut feeling and a few whispers I'd heard in the dark. But before I could bring anything to the queen's attention, her only son William called us into his quarters late one night, begging for total secrecy. It was there he said he knew of a second heir, one that had been born some years after him and his sister . . . and after their father had died." Resnick nodded at their widened eyes. "Yes, an illegitimate child, a second daughter. It's a story as old as time, but it's one that's more relevant now than ever. He said that after her birth, for fear of reprisal from the nation, she had the daughter carried far to the south and hidden away in a place she knew would be safe. William had only ever heard her mention where once before, and it had only been a single word: Washington. We were sent out the very next day and it's from there I have come searching for the illegitimate daughter to Queen Matilda, and the one person who can set our nation back on its rightful track. We are the Elk Wardens. God may protect the kingdom, but we protect the queen."


	4. Chapter 4: Reach

Chapter 4

Reach

Resnick palmed a handful of water, drinking some, and splashing the rest upon his face. He didn't bother to wipe it off, instead letting the cool water run down his cheeks and neck in streams. It felt so good, the cold purified water seeming to rejuvenate his tired body. The wasteland had taken a lot out of the First Sergeant; it was a far cry from the majestic and sophisticated city of Anastasia. He wished he could return to it someday soon, but until his mission was complete, that was impossible, even with the remainder of his team gone. He ran a wetted palm through his hair, brushing back the few rogue strands that had fallen across his face, and began to fill his canteen. It hadn't tasted water in quite some time. When he had filled it to its brim Reilly, the mercenary leader, walked up. Resnick screwed on the canteen's cap and gave her a quizzical stare. She set his pistol down next to the sink.

"Thought you might want that back. Ammo shouldn't be too difficult to find for it. You'll just need to get your hands on some bottle caps. Talk to Derrick; I'm sure he'd be willing to help out 'til you get back on your feet," Reilly said. Although her voice still held an undeniable edge her eyes were no longer so hard-bitten with suspicion. "Watch yourself out there, outlander. Just because the capital's under the new Republic's jurisdiction doesn't mean it's a safe place. Plenty of people will be gunning for you just because you're an outsider. Don't trust anyone, especially those in the Brotherhood. We may work together but they're still out for their own intentions. Good luck."

"Thank you," Resnick said. He picked the pistol up, eyed it for a moment, and then tucked it back into its holster. He looked back up to say something further but the mercenary leader had already disappeared back into her quarters. Resnick sighed. He supposed he couldn't really blame her for acting that way. He had, after all, attacked her husband – a fact he had learned only minutes ago. It seemed he wasn't the only one she didn't trust, however. Her mentioning of the Brotherhood of Steel set his teeth on edge and he wondered just who these people were. She spoke of them with such a hard tone. He wondered what they had done in the past to earn such a reputation.

"Ready to go?" Derrick asked from over his shoulder. Resnick turned and looked at the Lone Wanderer. He'd heard Reilly and several of the other Rangers call him it multiple times, and the radio had mentioned it more than once. He was apparently some sort of hero, though what he had done to earn the title was still a mystery. What was certain, however, was that he was part of the Brotherhood, and that only furthered the questions circling in his head.

Resnick nodded.

"Good," Derrick continued. "We'll want to make it there before dark. Even with most of the downtown area under Brotherhood control a few muties still make it through our defensive lines. I don't know about you, but I don't feel like dealing with any of them tonight."

"Mutie?" Resnick asked. They ascended the steps out of the Rangers' headquarters, passed through the recruit barracks, and began walking down the nearby road.

"Yeah, Super Mutants," Derrick answered. "Big yellow bastards who shoot at anything that moves. Really stupid, but they'll overwhelm you in numbers. Ever seen one?"

"Yeah," Resnick said. He couldn't help but draw up the painful memory. Jaime had been the first to go. His head had exploded before they had even heard the shot. Rix had gone next, the victim to an exploding car engine that had sent his blood and guts all over the street. None of them measured up to Paige, however. He had been the worst. The Super Mutant had just picked him up and started twisting . . . Resnick had never heard someone scream like that.

"We got ambushed by a few of 'em on our way into town," Resnick said. He forced the image from his head. "They killed my entire squad. Best of the Elk Wardens and we didn't last five minutes against them. You have a whole new scale of evil here, Derrick. I'm not sure what we'd do if those things ever made it to Anastasia."

"You'd do what I did, and you'd do what the rest of the Capital Wasteland has done. You adapt. And you pack as many bullets into their brain stems as you possibly can," Derrick said with a wide smile. It was friendly enough, but Resnick sensed something hidden behind the smile, something dark and cold. He had no doubt that behind the friendly and carefree exterior lay a cold, hard killer capable of doing anything to complete a mission.

"So where exactly are we heading?" Resnick asked pushing the thought from his head.

"The Citadel," Derrick answered. He walked easily down the street, his rifle slung across his back. He didn't even take any precautions to mask his footsteps, the tracks as clear as day. The Capital Wasteland was a far different place from Anastasia and the Lone Wanderer appeared to be just as enigmatic. At Resnick's questioning glance Derrick explained, "It's the headquarters for the Brotherhood of Steel and has kind of been adopted into the Republic's capital. It used to be the old United States' Pentagon building, but since the bombs dropped it's been turned into a fortress to train and house the wasteland's elite, and a safe meeting ground for all the Republic's leaders. It's probably the safest place I can take you 'til you figure out what your next move is. Plus, Elder Lyons will want to meet you."

"Elder Lyons?"

"Yeah, he's the leader of the Brotherhood here on the east coast. Don't worry; he's a good enough guy. A little senile if you ask me but he truly has the best interests of the wasteland at heart. Plus, if anyone's going to know about your fabled child, it's going to be him."

"I see," Resnick said. Reilly's words echoed in his head. Don't trust anyone, especially the Brotherhood. Yet here he was, being led right into their headquarters, into the very den he was told to avoid. He didn't have much choice, though, and so he continued on behind his strange companion.

The street was stagnant. They ventured several blocks before descending the steps into an underground metro tunnel. It was dark and cool beneath the city streets, but electrical lamps lit a safe path through the subway tunnels. In the distance growls and yips emanated from the darkness, but Derrick paid them hardly any attention.

"Feral ghouls," he explained, noticing Resnick's trouble look.

"I know. I ran into a few after running from the Super Mutants. One nearly took my leg off," Resnick said indicating the sutured wound along his left thigh. It ached miserably, the Med-x having worn off hours ago. "How are you not concerned about them? How are you not concerned about anything? You walked down the street without a care in the world."

"I told you, the downtown area is pretty much entirely under our control. Raiders stick to the west, ghouls stay underground, and the muties are too dumb to sneak up on me. If someone's going to attack me, I'll know about it long before they try anything. And with the ghouls," Derrick indicated the lighted boxes that lined the walls. "These are ultraviolet lamps. Ferals hate sunlight. Sure, you'll see some of them wandering out in the daylight, but they hate direct sunlight. They'll stay away as long as we keep to the path. Of course it doesn't hurt that they also know my scent well enough to stay away," Derrick added with a smile. His eyes shone brightly in the lamp's reflection.

They stayed to the lighted path and true to Derrick's word they passed unharmed. They ascended the rusted escalators of a large metro station. Resnick had no doubt before the bombs it had been one of the city's largest, most bustling centers. He glanced all around still weary despite all of his companion's assurances. It wasn't until they rounded the corner his heart began to steady itself back out, if only for a moment. Behind a row of sandbags sat two metal beasts. Resnick's hand instinctively twitched toward his pistol, but Derrick's casual manner in which he approached kept his finger away from the trigger. He decided to follow, though he was ready to roll to safety if the situation called for it. The two metal demons rose to their feet at the Lone Wanderer's approach. Derrick waved them back into their seats. The smaller of the two sagged back into its seat, its metal hand resting on the turret, while the other pulled at its own head. A hiss of air echoed down the tunnel and suddenly the beast's head came off . . . Resnick blinked several times before allowing his eyes to believe what they had just seen. It was a helmet. The entire thing was one big suit, and beneath was a normal young man. His hair was longer than Resnick's, though it was tied back with a red strand of cloth. He spoke to the Lone Wanderer for several minutes, laughing and swapping jokes, while his partner eyed the tunnel behind. The turret was at least a fifty-caliber and rested atop the sandbags by way of a tripod. The operator paid him little mind.

"Who's the rook?" the other man asked indicating Resnick. He drew his eyes back toward the metal-encased soldier.

"Not a rookie," Derrick said. "He's an outlander."

"No _shiiit_," the soldier said. "Where'd you find him?"

"Reilly's group picked him up on one of their patrols. He said his group got attacked by a couple muties, only one that survived."

"Sons of bitches," the man said his voice ridden in spite. He ran a hand through sweat-slickened hair, turning his attention toward Resnick. "You're one lucky son of a bitch to be alive, brother. Muties don't usually let people escape alive. Count your blessings it was Reilly's group who picked you up. Talon Company, or one of the other groups guarding those sectors, may not have been so nice. You could've been out on those streets for days."

"I'm just full of miracles, it seems," Resnick said evenly. His eyes ventured back down the tunnel. The soldier seemed about to say something further but he wasn't given the chance.

"It's good seeing you, Cid," Derrick said extending his hand out toward the soldier. The man eyed Resnick for another moment, his eyes narrowed and calculating, before shaking the Wanderer's outstretched hand. Cid muttered something back about manners before he tugged his helmet back over his head, hitting a button on the side and allowing it to seal itself back into place. Another hiss of air echoed down the tunnel as the filtration unit kicked back on.

Derrick nodded toward the tunnel's exit and the pair headed out. Once they were out of earshot, Resnick turned back to his companion.

"Brotherhood of Steel?" he asked. Derrick simply nodded. Resnick sighed. "Wonderful."

)*(

_**A/N**__**: I hope everyone is enjoying. I know the chapters have been a bit short and a little slow, but I'm trying to set a good pace. It's also been a long time since I've worked on anything Fallout-related so bear with me. To those who have reviewed, thank you. Your words are very much appreciated. To those who haven't, get with the program. Any words (constructive criticism, suggestions, thoughts, rantings) are welcome and all will be taken into consideration. Also, there will be pairings later on in the story so whoever you would like to see Resnick with I'll take suggestions for that as well, though please only female inputs. Thanks for reading. God may protect the kingdom, but we protect the queen!**_


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